


Witness Care 101

by Cumberbatch Critter (ivelostmyspectacles)



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Caretaking, Developing Relationship, Doctor Ichabod (okay not literally but he's going to try), F/M, Flu, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Sick Abbie, Sickfic, Stubborn Abbie, Stubborn Ichabod, stomach flu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-25 02:39:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2605556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/Cumberbatch%20Critter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abbie doesn't know where she got it, how she got it, <i>who </i>she got it from but she's going to hate them forever if she finds out, or <i>why her</i>, but she's been struck down with the stomach flu.</p><p>Ichabod isn't comfortable with leaving her alone by herself when she's so ill, so he very tentatively invites himself in to take care of her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So, if you follow me from FF.net... I write basically sickfics for every fandom I'm in. I have more Sherlock sickfics than I can count on both hands. I've been grinding at this idea for this fandom for awhile. I had been having trouble writing dialogue for Ichabod and Abbie at first, so it took me awhile to get it written. 
> 
> Nonetheless on how quick updates will be, this will be a multi-chapter! Also, thank you to **Xelbie** , for prompting this even after I started writing it, inspiring me to work even harder on it!
> 
> I do not own _Sleepy Hollow_. Stay tuned for further chapters!

Abbie knew from the moment that she woke up that she was coming down with something.

It was the way that her ribs were aching for no reason, the way that her head throbbed in time with her pulse, and the way that lethargy sank into her bones and dragged her down. Normally, she was tired in the morning; not _this_ tired. Brushing her teeth and taking a shower, only to be exhausted afterwards? No.

But, like all people who had no time for coming down with a cold or the flu or whatever else bug was going around, Abbie did the thing she thought best. She ignored it.

Perhaps it wasn't the best practise, but Abbie frankly didn't give a rat's ass. She had better things to do than sit at home and feel sorry for herself. So, she skipped out on breakfast for a lack of appetite and went to the nearest coffee shop for a much needed dose of caffeine. No Starbucks for her today. The pounding in her head was not going to be eased by waiting in a long line for a coffee that was overpriced (no matter how tasty). She was just not going to have the patience for that today, no matter that it was still pumpkin spice season and she desperately loved pumpkin spice time of year.

Instead, she settled for a cheap coffee at the nearby shop, the largest one that she could buy there. By the time that she pulled into the precinct, she had already downed a third of it. It didn't help the headache, it didn't help the body aches, and it wasn't helping the sudden sore throat that had just recently taken up residence deep in the back of her throat.

She swallowed impatiently. Maybe she had just drank her coffee too fast and burned her tongue, her mouth, her throat. That was a possibility... but then, she also knew that it was poor one, at best. It didn't explain the other symptoms, but she still didn't want to face the only other explanation.

She gulped at her coffee and flopped into her desk, wondering if she'd thrown a bottle of aspirin in her purse after the last one was empty.

By lunchtime, Abbie was not only exhausted with a headache, she was an exhausted police Lt. with a headache and paperwork for the past three cases. She skipped out on lunch and swallowed down two aspirin instead, chasing them down with a gulp of water that nearly went down the wrong way. Then, she went back to her paperwork and resigned herself to the fact that the rest of the day was going to go by both slowly and horrifically.

To make her day better, a call came in and she was assigned to the latest murder that had occured in Sleepy Hollow. And it wasn't even a ‘normal murder’, it was a ‘Witness murder’, which meant that Crane was going to be joining her on the case. Not that she didn't appreciate his company, she did. Sometimes, it was the only thing that got her through a day or a horrible case. But Crane and a headache that was hammering against the inside of her skull? They wouldn't play well, and Abbie knew it.

Still, she sent him a text and received one in response. Crane was at the elementary school for a day, lecturing, as was part of his cover, but whatever she told those kids... Well, he was always smiling when she picked him up. She guessed he liked kids. But whatever the reason, due to his schedule, they'd meet up at the archives after Abbie's shift was over.

Which couldn't come soon enough, if she had anything to say about it.

When she was finally off, she wanted nothing more than to slink home, run a very hot bath, and sink into the water to soak for an indeterminate amount of time before going to bed. Unfortunately, she was a Witness before she was a sick person, so instead of slinking home, she slunk to the archives instead.

Crane was already there.

Abbie dropped her bag onto the floor heavily to announce her arrival.

"Good evening, Lieutenant," he greeted. "According to what you told me via text message- oh." He had looked up, and now he cocked his head slightly. "Did you perhaps have a grueling day today, Lieutenant?"

Just how bad did she look? she wondered. If Crane, who spent two and a half centuries buried beneath the earth, could tell that she was sick just by looking at her, she figured that she had to look like death warmed over. Although, she reminded herself, he probably saw a lot more sickness in his day than she'd seen her entire life.

She tried not to sigh too loudly. "Yeah, you could say that." She crossed the room to stop next to him, looking at the research material. If she wasn't so tired, she figured that this wouldn't look so... unorganized. "Did you find anything?"

"Yes." Ichabod tapped one of the open books on the table. "The good news is this book speaks of the creature of which you described to me, right down to the killing. It matches entirely. I have no doubt that this is what we're looking for."

"And the bad news?" Abbie asked tiredly.

Ichabod exhaled. "The bad news is that, while this journal," he held up a black leather clad book, "explains about the creature in detail from a sighting, it says everything but how to kill the beast."

Abbie didn't care if she sighed loudly this time. "So, basically, we're still on the drawing board."

"If that is to mean that we have no leads whatsoever... yes."

"Great." Abbie reached for a book. "Is there a meaning to this madness or should I just pick some books and start reading?"

"By all means," Ichabod said, "but, Lieutenant, are you quite sure that you're feeling well?" His gaze lingered on her too long. She wanted to call him out on it and tell him to mind his own business, but she wouldn't do that. He was worried.

"I'm fine."

"If you were unwell, I would not wish you to-"

"I just had a bad day. Come on, Crane, you have them, too." Not that she'd bring them up in detail, because Crane had good reasons for having bad days. Like being dead and waking up two and a half centuries later, like his wife being a witch or omitting the fact that they had a son together and that said son was the Horseman of War.

Next to those reasons, Abbie coming down with a cold just sounded... pathetic.

"Very well, Lieutenant," Ichabod replied, a little stiffly. "I will be reading here if you require anything."

Abbie knew that she should apologize for snapping at him, but she just couldn't muster up the enthusiasm. He was just trying to help, she knew that, but... she'd do it later. Right now, she dropped heavily into a chair and flipped one of the books open. She just hoped that she didn't miss anything important when she skimmed over a sentence or two.

But a sentence turned into a paragraph, and a paragraph nearly turned into a page, and Abbie sighed heavily, resting her head against the back of the chair.

When she opened her eyes again, Ichabod was standing over her, an increasingly worried look on his face.

Abbie jumped and tried to sit up straight quickly. The book on her lap fell to the floor with a _thump_ and the archives swam dangerously for a moment.

"Lieutenant, I don't mean to intrude, but I'm afraid you appear to be ill," Ichabod said quietly. He looked worried, but his voice was perfectly calm. Steady, and quiet, and Abbie appreciated it over her pounding headache.

Abbie squinted. In addition to the symptoms she'd been having earlier, she was now dizzy and nauseous. She prayed she didn't throw up on him, although he was standing close enough to deserve it. She also remembered, quite suddenly, that this time of year? Yeah, it was flu season.

She swallowed. "I'm fine, Crane," she mumbled weakly.

"As I stated, I wish not to hear arguments on the matter. I spent enough time in infirmaries to know that you are quite unwell," Ichabod said, matter-of-factly. He picked up the book that had fallen from her lap, setting it aside. "You should be at home, tucked into bed, preferably."

"I'm _really_ -"

"Lieutenant," Crane interrupted sternly.

"What am I supposed to do? This case-"

"Will be here, as well as the research and I, when you return," Ichabod said gently.

"This thing," Abbie hissed, "it's killing people! What am I supposed to do, let it run free while I go home and sleep? I can't do that!"

"You are not of much use to the cause when you look like the next victim itself, Miss Mills."

Abbie wanted to glare. She did. But, instead, she just resigned herself to giving into him. She always gave into him. She really needed to put her foot down more often, but it was just impossible with Crane. She enjoyed him too much to put her foot down. Boy, she was weak. "Fine," she muttered. "But I'm coming back first thing tomorrow, I'm not taking a day off if I can help it."

Ichabod smiled. How he managed to be both charming and worried at the same time was too much for Abbie to think about. "Thank you," Ichabod said. "I will stay awhile longer to see if I can unearth further information."

"Call me if you find anything," she replied sternly, as sternly as she could. "I mean it. Don't hold out because I've got the sniffles."

Ichabod tilted his head slightly again. "‘Sniffles’?"

"Uh. I'll explain later," she said listlessly. "Just call me."

Ichabod nodded. "Very well. Take care, Lieutenant."

"Yeah, right," Abbie muttered. "See you tomorrow."

"Godspeed."

Yeah. She'd need the good will.

 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter Doctor Crane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ignore any mistakes; I, unfortunately, seem to be getting sick in real time. I hope that it's merely a figment of my imagination, but my sore throat and aching everything seems to be arguing with me on that front. It is, sadly, cold and flu season. :(
> 
> H/c in stories is so much better. I don't have an Ichabod to join me. xP

After leaving the archives, Abbie went home, drew a hot bath, and fell into bed with little thought to the case or leaving Crane to research on his own. She had strange dreams and woke up drenched in sweat.

She groaned and tried to kick the blankets away. That most likely meant a fever, which meant that she was contagious, not that she hadn't been before, but still. She didn't have _time_ for this.

She kicked the blankets off entirely and pushed herself into a sitting position, only to come to a sudden stop when her stomach jolted. "Oh, come _on_." She splayed her fingers against her stomach, and then clapped her hand against her mouth to take off running to the bathroom.

At least, she thought wryly, Jenny wasn't staying with her anymore. At least this hadn't happened at work.

Work. She was going to have to call in. She had sick leave built up, which would ease the blow slightly, but... the case. She was going to have to call Crane.

When she stopped throwing up.

... Maybe she'd text him.

But she brushed her teeth first, called the precinct, and made some coffee before picking up her phone again.

_06:10 Got the flu. Won't be in to help. Sorry. :(_

She tossed her phone onto the cabinet and snagged a mug from the cabinet to pour herself some coffee. Her text alert chimed before she had even taken a drink.

_06:11 Your condition has worsened?_

Abbie sighed and took her coffee and phone to the sofa. She had a feeling it was going to be a long day, and she didn't even have a plan to do anything except sleep.

_06:11 Miss Mills?_

"Oh, get your panties out of a twist," she muttered, trying not to gag as she took a drink of her coffee to chase away the taste of vomit and mint toothpaste.

Her phone started ringing. Abbie sighed.

"Crane, I'm fine, I've just got the flu," she greeted tiredly.

 _"The flu?"_ Crane echoed.

"Well, stomach flu, I guess," Abbie muttered. "I don't know. I should have known, yesterday. I didn't start puking until this morning."

_"Should you call those travelling doctors of yours?"_

"It's just stomach flu. They can't do anything." Abbie took another drink of her coffee. "Tell me to stay hydrated and plenty of rest. Not cause for a 911 call."

_"What about Miss Jenny?"_

"What about her?" Abbie asked wearily.

_"Should she not be notified?"_

"I'm not dying, Crane," she said bluntly.

 _"I should hope not,"_ he replied, _"but I still think it best-"_

"If you call her, Crane, I swear I'll hate you forever."

Ichabod seemed to huff; there was static through the phone. _"I will abide by your... threats, Lieutenant. Are you going to be taken care of?"_

"What exactly does that mean?"

_"You are alone at home, correct?"_

"Yeah, and I'm capable. I've lived alone since I was eighteen. Before then, even, considering the thing with our mom..." she trailed off and shook her head slightly. Her stomach was churning again. Talking wasn't helping. "Look-"

 _"I realize that you are a most capable woman, but in a state weakened by illness,"_ Crane was saying.

"I'm not ‘weakened’, I'm just-"

_"I worry that you will not take care of yourself."_

"Seriously, I'm-" And then she wasn't fine, because she was scrambling off the sofa to get to the trash can in the kitchen because the bathroom was far too far away.

"Sorry," she rasped, once she had picked up her phone again.

 _"Are you_ sure _that you're going to be alright, Miss Mills?"_ Ichabod replied, all the world seeming like he hadn't just been delayed three minutes to listen to Abbie throw up.

"Uh huh. I gotta go. Text later."

_"... Very well. Be well, Lieutenant."_

"Yup." She hung up without another word and dropped the phone onto the table, collapsing back onto the sofa. She wasn't going to move the rest of the day, if she could help it.

* * *

 

Of course, she couldn't help it, with the stomach flu, and she ended up in varying places of her house, ending ultimately in the bedroom and feeling miserable with herself. She felt like rolling over, burying herself into her pillows, and dying.

So, when her doorbell rang, she thought herself entirely justified in groaning out loud and mentally demanding that whoever was trying to bother her could go crawl back to wherever hell they had come from. She was _not_ answering that door.

Her phone vibrated on the nightstand. Was there no end to people trying to bother her? She grumbled to herself and reached over to grab it, squinting at the bright light shining from it.

_12:17 Lieutenant, I understand that you didn't wish for your sister to know of your illness, so I took it upon myself to come in her place._

His text seemed to stretch on forever and it took Abbie three tries reading it to understand. Crane was at her _door_.

She sighed heavily, painfully typing out a response.

_12:18 Keys in the mailbox._

"Lieutenant?" Her front door opened and then closed.

_12:19 Bedroom_

Seconds later, Crane peered around her doorway. "... Lieutenant," he greeted quietly, smiling softly. "I'm sorry that you're unwell."

Abbie couldn't find it in her to be annoyed. "Yeah, well... so am I," she muttered, trying to sit up.

"No, no, no," Crane interrupted. "Don't move, Lieutenant. You must rest." He took a step, but then paused. His eyes flicked around her bedroom. It was a movement Abbie clearly wasn't meant to see, but she was so used to him that she did.

"Just come in," she said tiredly. She was not in the mood for his _I shouldn't be in an unmarried woman's bedroom_ bullshit. Cute sometimes. Not now.

Ichabod nodded shortly, stepping further into the room. "If you'll forgive me," he said, gently resting his hand against her forehead. Were his hands _always_ so big? And warm? Jeez. "I know that you did not request anyone's service, but I wanted to make sure that you were not alone while you felt poorly."

Abbie sighed and closed her eyes. "... Yeah, thanks."

"And I found that I couldn't concentrate knowing that you were unwell," Ichabod admitted, pulling his hand away. "I may not be a physician, but I'd like to assist you if I can."

"And do what?" Abbie asked tiredly.

Ichabod was quiet for a moment, clearly thinking. Abbie didn't have to open her eyes to see that he had his thinking face on.

"Hold your hair while you vomit?" Ichabod asked. His tone was _so_ innocent, like he was suggesting it rather than saying he would do it. In his day, though, did men accompany women to the bathroom at _all_? Or to... the outhouse? How did people manage back then? Abbie wasn't sure she was thinking the right century to begin with.

Nonetheless, she laughed out loud, which of course turned into a groan. "Where'd... where'd you learn that, Crane?"

"Television," Ichabod replied, a little pride in his tone.

Abbie laughed wearily into her pillow. "... Maybe just some tea," she mumbled, because it sounded good and she _knew_ that he knew how to do that.

Ichabod nodded. "Very well, Lieutenant. I will return momentarily." With that, he turned and strode out determinedly.

Maybe having him around wasn't going to be as bad as Abbie thought. If nothing else, he might make her feel a little better if he tried to argue with her microwave again.

 


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abbie really is tired of this being sick thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This a little bit of a fluffy, filler chapter, but adding parts from the next chapter would have made this one way too long. So, whilst it's a little boring, don't worry and don't give up on it. :)
> 
> Thanks for continuing to read and stay tuned!

Truth be told, Crane actually _did_ hold her hair for her when she threw up. She was mortified and irritated at first, but then she threw up again and Abbie found that she just didn't give a damn.

"Are you _sure_ ," she mumbled weakly, "that you don't want to take off? I'm _really_ fine on my own."

Ichabod was watching currently, leaning against the bathroom sink with his arms crossed. He looked like he was not anywhere _near_ believing her.

She wouldn't believe herself, either, because she was currently sitting on the floor next to the toilet, shaking, covered in sweat, and debating the likelihood of getting back to bed without throwing up again.

"It would be in poor conscious to leave you here alone, Lieutenant. You cannot honestly expect me to," he said patiently.

Abbie laughed weakly, and then groaned when her whole body ached from it. "No," she mumbled. "Help me up?"

"Yes." Ichabod offered both of his hands and helped to guide her to her feet. Abbie swayed slightly and stumbled into his side; he immediately wrapped his arm around her loosely. His hand on her arm was hesitant, but lending all the same. "Careful, Miss Mills..."

Abbie huffed softly and stumbled to the sink to rinse her mouth out, and then back to her bedroom with Ichabod's help. "If you told me... when we first met, that you would be... helping me into bed-" Ichabod made a face - "you know what I mean," Abbie hissed, sinking onto the mattress. "When I was sick with the stomach flu, I'd have told you to-"

"I can imagine what you might have suggested that I do," Ichabod interrupted with a small smile. "You would have told me to return to the asylum that you retrieved me from." He pulled the blankets up around her.

"The one I put you in, anyway," Abbie muttered.

"It was a small tribulation. The asylum was much more companionable than the motel that you then provided me with." He brushed a piece of her hand behind her ear.

Abbie squirmed. Her body ached and her mouth tasted horrible and now her face was burning. She wasn't used to being catered to, much less by confused-by-the-toaster Ichabod Crane.

He seemed to notice. "My apologies." He took a hasty step back, folding his hands behind his back. "Is there something I could provide you with to ease your illness?" He thought for a moment. "Medication, perhaps?"

Abbie blew out a breath. "A mint. A peppermint," she added, from the look of confusion on his face. "The red and white round things that they give you with your meal."

"Oh. Yes. The... sweets version, not the actual leaf." Ichabod said sourly, before looking at her again. "Where might you keep such a thing?"

"The dish where I put my keys."

"Very well." Ichabod nodded. "Just a moment."

"You could just say ‘be right back’," Abbie muttered to herself.

"What?" Ichabod paused in the doorway.

"Nothing," Abbie said louder. "I'm good."

"You are not," Ichabod admonished, but then he was out the door and apparently off to gather the peppermints from her dish of mismatched assortments.

_Great job, know-it-all_ , she thought to herself, but didn't say it out loud. Just as she wouldn't say out loud how much more companionable the silence was when there was someone there with her while she was ill. Because she definitely wasn't going to say that; wasn't the way she worked. Silent gratitude or nothing. Most of the time.

"Here you are," Ichabod said, stepping back into the room.

"Thanks," Abbie rasped, trying to clear her throat without making herself gag. She put the peppermint into her mouth and sighed, resting her head against the headboard. "Ugh."

"Are you sure that medication wouldn't help?" Ichabod inquired.

Abbie shook her head weakly. "You can only take it every so often, Crane. I can't have it for another hour or two."

"Oh, I see." Ichabod looked at her and then around her room slowly, only his eyes and the tiniest movement of his head betraying his actions. "Your room is most lovely, Lieutenant."

Abbie laughed dryly. "Is that Crane-speak for boring as hell?"

Ichabod looked back at her. "No," he said, as though the idea was particularly affronting. "It's charming."

She chose not to mention that all of her clothes from yesterday were strewn across the floor, including her uniform and belt. She wondered if that equated to ‘charm’ in his mind, but then grumbled mentally about no, of course it didn't. Her illness was messing with her head.

"It's indicative of you," Ichabod added.

Abbie raised her eyebrows. "Good thing?"

"Naturally," Crane replied, raising his eyebrows. "It wouldn't do for your bedroom to be unlike yourself. There would be little sanctuary if it were not."

Abbie couldn't help but laugh, trying to get comfortable between the pillows, blankets, and the body aches. "Since when did you become an interior decorator?"

Ichabod tilted his head. "I'm not sure if I'm taking your meaning in its entirety, but Katrina and I did have our own lodgings while we were married."

"I see..." Abbie trailed off, closing her eyes again. How could she be so exhausted when all she was doing was trekking back and forth between the bathroom and her bedroom?

"You should sleep, Miss Mills."

Abbie pried her eyes open again. "Yeah, I know. Sorry. I'm being bad company." She took the rest of the mint out of her mouth and dropped it into her abandoned glass of water on the bedside stand.

"Not at all," Ichabod replied.

"Well, I'm not good company," Abbie muttered, burrowing back into the blankets. "That's for sure."

"I've had much worse. Enemy soldiers, for example."

Abbie huffed a laugh. "Uh huh."

Ichabod was silent for a moment before his footsteps moved away from the bed. Abbie wondered where he was going, vaguely, but didn't really care. There wasn't a whole lot that she had to hide, nevermind things residing in her top dresser drawer but she doubted he'd go snooping there, anyway. (She hoped, she didn't feel like explaining _some_ things to him.)

When his footsteps came back, Abbie was about to mumble a question when something cold and wet was pressed against her forehead. She jumped slightly as water dripped down her temples.

"Sorry," Crane apologized. "I've been led to believe it helps a fever."

"... Warning next time," she muttered, and turned her face into the pillow as best she could without dislodging the cloth.

"Right." He was silent for another moment before speaking again. "Pleasant dreams, Lieutenant. I shall be here if you need me."

Abbie was going to mutter a thanks, but then, she didn't get the chance. She was asleep before she could even express the sentiment.

 


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor Crane, thresholds, and the comfort of a pair of warm hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick update to make up for that filler chapter. More and more fluff in the form of Crane vs. the 21st century, ahoy!

"Aha!"

Abbie flinched from where she was dozing next to the toilet. It took her a minute to remember that Ichabod had been here with her all afternoon. She turned her head slightly and found him brandishing what looked like a thermometer. She'd forgotten that she had one, to be honest.

"I have found your thermometer, Lieutenant," he said. "Now I just need to..." he leaned over to look at something on the countertop. "Sterilize it with rubbing alcohol... I just saw that." He opened the cabinet.

Abbie was partially amused by the way that Ichabod had just settled into rooting around in her bathroom drawers, but mostly she was just tired. So, she just watched him wearily.

"Okay, now I have to rinse it..." He was talking to himself. He looked back at whatever he was looking at on the counter.

"... What are you looking at?" Abbie mumbled.

Ichabod glanced over his shoulder. "Oh, your tablet." He picked it up. "I called Miss Jenny and-"

" _What?_ " Abbie interrupted, sitting up slightly.

Ichabod gave her a look. "I did not say where I was or what I was doing. I inquired how to use a... tablet," he said, placing the tablet back on the countertop, "and traverse Internet. I believe she took it to mean that I was looking up unsavory things in my free time," he added, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Abbie sighed. "Yeah... she'll do that."

Ichabod rinsed and wiped off the thermometer. "I have been acquiring information for how to treat the stomach flu on this tablet. I have discovered your digital thermometer. Now I just..." He pressed a button on the thermometer and it beeped to life. "There we are. This is most ingenious, Lieutenant."

"Yeah," she muttered dryly.

Ichabod crouched down next to her, smiling condescendingly. "May I?"

Abbie glared him wearily. "I think I can manage," she muttered, taking the thermometer from his hand and slipping it under her tongue herself. If she hadn't been thirty and down with the flu, she might have stuck her tongue out at him.

Ichabod's smile widened. "Thank you."

Abbie rolled her eyes weakly.

Ichabod reached forward and pressed his hand against her forehead again, first his palm and then his knuckles. "There seems to be differing opinions on which side of the hand to use to feel for fever."

_Why are you telling me this?_ she wanted to ask, but she was again preoccupied by how hot his hands were. How could he be so warm? _Seriously_ , she was freezing to death here.

The thermometer beeped and Ichabod removed it before Abbie could get the chance to.

"Ahh... One hundred and one point three." He paused. "That's relatively high." He looked from the thermometer, down at her. "Should we be going to the hospital now?"

"My threshold's one-oh-four," Abbie muttered, pushing herself to her feet. She wanted to go back to bed, she wanted to take care of herself, she wanted a grilled cheese and some chicken noodle soup. "Anything lower than that and-" A wave of vertigo swelled out from nowhere and before she had a chance to ask for anything that she wanted, the world went black and she passed out.

She was vaguely aware of Ichabod saying her name, but then she didn't hear him.

When she woke up again, she swore she nearly had a heart attack when she found herself in Ichabod's arms. Seriously, she thought she was going to _die_. And not from the stomach flu this time. When did he get so damn touchy-feely? Not that Abbie minded, he was taking care of her, trying to, at least, but... his closeness was making her heart do weird things.

"Abbie. Abbie?"

Abbie flinched when something cold pressed against her neck. She forced herself to open her eyes and stare blearily towards Ichabod.

"Oh, good." Ichabod blew out a deep breath, pressing the cold cloth against her forehead. "You fainted."

Thank you, Captain Obvious. She sighed, squirming a bit, but his hold didn't relinquish. "Crane," she ground out. "Let me go. Just a little lightheadedness," she mumbled, squirming a bit more.

"A ‘little lightheadedness’ nearly made you meet with the floor," Ichabod muttered, although he set the cloth aside in favor of helping Abbie sit up. "Take it slowly."

Abbie managed, with Ichabod's help, to sit up, but her stomach was churning and the pain in her head was nearly incapacitating.

"Let's get you back to bed, shall we?"

"... Yep," she said breathlessly.

Ichabod nodded, getting to his knees and then to his feet, helping her up along the way. She swayed as soon as she was back on her own two feet.

Ichabod stepped a half step closer. "If you need me to carry you-"

"I do _not_ ," Abbie bit off wearily. She'd walk to her own bed if it killed her. Her skin hadn't stopped being all hot from waking up in his arms, anyway, she wasn't letting him carry her unless she was dead. Or unconscious. (Which maybe wasn't too far from the truth, but Abbie refused to admit that.)

Ichabod rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath. It sounded like _"stubborn"_. Abbie chose not to comment.

"Easy," Ichabod said instead, holding onto her arm.

"Slow and steady..." Abbie muttered halfheartedly.

"Wins the race," Ichabod replied automatically.

Abbie chuckled lightly. She vaguely wondered how he knew that phrase.

She collapsed onto the bed and curled over on her side. "My stomach is _killing_ me," she muttered.

"Oh! I read about this," Ichabod said and, without further explanation, turned and strode back into the bathroom.

Great. He'd read about it. On the Internet.

Abbie couldn't wait.

She heard him looking for whatever in the bathroom, drawers opening and closing. She wondered vaguely what he was looking for, but then she just decided to close her eyes and let him do whatever he wanted while she tried to sleep. As long as he didn't set the house on fire, she wasn't moving.

She was half asleep when he came back, prompting a flash of irritation when all he did was stand next her bed. She _really_ had to teach him about boundaries.

"Um..."

Abbie sighed and opened an eye. "Yes?"

"A hot water bottle." Ichabod held out the item in question. "I wrapped in the towel because it said that you shouldn't have it directly against your skin, but I'm fairly sure that you should put it... under your shirt."

"Oh." Abbie wearily took the water bottle from him. Okay, he did have _some_ boundaries. He'd probably panic if he saw her belly button or something. "Thank you," she said seriously.

Ichabod smiled. "Most welcome."

Abbie pressed the warmth against her aching stomach and closed her eyes again. When she got right down to it - and she wouldn't admit this - Ichabod wasn't such a bad doctor. Nurse. Whatever. It did make sense, Katrina being a nurse, but... he was surprisingly efficient himself. Abbie was genuinely glad for his company... again. (Always.)

She fell asleep on that thought, and had dreams about Ichabod, orange pekoe tea, and the general supernatural lore in the world they lived in.

 


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Onwards to health!

When she woke up at ten-thirty that night, Abbie expected Ichabod to still be standing over her. But. He wasn't. She had a brief moment of irrational _where did he go?_ before she collected herself, pushing the blankets off slightly to try and sit up. She felt better, better than she had at ten-thirty the night before, anyway. Maybe it had been a twenty-four hour flu?

She swung her feet to the floor and then stopped when she noticed Ichabod, seated on the floor, slouched against the wall and her nightstand. He was fast asleep, his hair falling into his face to cast shadows over his face.

Abbie smiled and then frowned because that couldn't be comfortable. She shook her head slightly and pushed herself to her feet, pleased when the world didn't sway dangerously.

"Crane."

Ichabod didn't move.

" _Crane_ ," Abbie muttered, nudging his ankle with her foot. "Wake up."

That got him awake fast. He jumped and sat up, head jerking back to smack against the wall. "Ouc-" Ichabod broke off, noticing Abbie standing before him. "Lieutenant!" He scrambled to his feet. "What are you doing up?"

Abbie rolled her eyes. "Going to the bathroom. Go sleep on the couch."

Ichabod hovered close to her, still blinking sleep out of his eyes. "I couldn't possibly, I'm here for you-"

"And you were also asleep on the floor," Abbie muttered. There was no way that she could tell him to go home now. He didn't have a vehicle, so he most likely walked, and now it was going on eleven. She couldn't send him home, even if she _had_ wanted to. "Go sleep on the couch," she repeated, and stumbled to the bathroom.

"But-"

Abbie closed the door behind her, cutting him off.

She should have known that that wouldn't stop him, because the moment she opened the door again, Ichabod continued on as though he hadn't been interrupted.

"It wouldn't be in good conscious to leave you here whilst you are ill," he said, watching her worriedly.

"It's the couch, Crane," Abbie muttered, slinking back into bed. "Not Massachusetts."

"Yes, I realize that, Lieutenant; however-"

Abbie pulled the blankets up around her shoulders. "Or get in bed."

Ichabod came to a sudden stop, closing his mouth. The thin line he set his lips into spoke to her that he was very much _not_ amused.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Abbie muttered. "At least I'd wake up knowing you."

" _Lieutenant._ "

Abbie laughed quietly.

"I will stay awake," Ichabod said shortly. "If you need anything..."

"I'll let you know," Abbie replied.

* * *

 

When Abbie woke up again, it was morning. Crane was sprawled out across the foot of her bed, fast asleep. Abbie wanted to laugh, but in fear of waking him up, settled with smiling.

She crawled out of bed carefully and pulled the comforter over Crane the best she could with the awkward way he was laying. Must have been a twenty-four hour flu, she reasoned, as she tucked the blanket around his shoulders, because the nausea was gone. There was a dull ache still in the pit of her stomach, but she expected that that would go away.

In the meantime, she'd take some more aspirin and take it easy today. She knew that five minutes up and she'd be exhausted. She'd take it easy... right after she had a shower.

The hot water was bliss against her skin, but standing too long made her dizzy, and the hot water wouldn't help the fever, if she still had it. She'd have to check, although she wasn't sure what Crane had done with her thermometer. She grabbed her towel and dried off, wrapping it around her for warmth before going to brush her teeth.

Her legs were shaking by the time she'd rinsed the toothpaste out of her mouth. She clumsily dropped her toothbrush back into the holder. "This sucks," she muttered, fixing her towel before turning to the door. Clothes, coffee, lots of coffee, and TV. That was her sure-fire prescription.

"Lieutenant!"

Abbie took a hasty step back as Ichabod rushed her after she opened the bathroom door. "Woah!"

"You- ... are not wearing any clothes." Whatever he had been about to say was replaced by that instead. He turned around. "My apologies. I thought..." he trailed off.

Abbie gripped loosely at the towel. "Thought what?" She _really_ needed to sit down.

"... I don't know what I thought," Ichabod said pathetically.

"Uh huh. I'm gonna get dressed now."

"Right." Ichabod nodded forcefully; his hair bounced with the movement. "I'll just..." He gestured towards the door. "... Coffee? Tea?"

Abbie smiled frankly. "Coffee sounds great."

Ichabod nodded again and left the room without another word, although Abbie thought that his ears were pink in his retreat.

She rolled her eyes settled to the painstaking task of getting dressed. When she collapsed onto the couch in the sitting room, she was staggering from vertigo and lightheadedness. There was no doubt. Still had a way to go before she was better.

"I would venture a guess to say that you are improved," Ichabod commented, handing her a mug of steaming coffee. "However..."

Abbie took it gratefully. "Still recovering," she agreed. "At least I'm not praying to the porcelain gods anymore," she added, curling her fingers around the mug.

"Yes," Ichabod agreed hesitantly, his forehead wrinkled with a frown. He didn't seem to get it. He took a seat in her recliner with his own cup of coffee. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. It seems as though I couldn't manage to do much at all last night."

Abbie shook her head. "You were a huge help. It was late." She took a drink of her coffee, and then cleared her throat. "So, uh, thanks... you know."

Ichabod smiled faintly, although it fell away quickly. "Yes. I am glad that you feel better." No more than had he said that, he turned away to hide a yawn in his arm.

Abbie raised her eyebrows. "Not comfortable enough in my bed?" she asked teasingly.

"That was _not_ my intention," Ichabod retorted, but softened when he saw she was smiling. "But, no, your bed is... quite comfortable," he admitted. "I just didn't sleep well."

"You can head home now, you know?" She shrugged when he looked at her quickly. "I'm over the worst, I feel better as long as I don't push it."

"If I may be so bold, Lieutenant... ever since I met you, you have been... ‘pushing it’. With all due respect," Ichabod replied.

Abbie laughed, nearly inhaling her coffee. "Okay," she said, holding up her hand. "You've got me there. But I promise I'll be good, I'll just be here, watching TV, Crane. Go home," she said softly.

Ichabod tilted his head slightly. "I'll stay awhile longer, if you don't mind."

Abbie shrugged. She wasn't having this argument right now. "Alright. Be my guest."

Ichabod smiled brightly. "It is most pleasant company, after all."

* * *

 

Two days later, she was back at work. So what if she was pushing it a little bit, but it was pure _luck_ that their creature hadn't taken any more lives in the past few days and Abbie was managing standing up without feeling faint now.

"Okay, I thought we'd stake-out at that campsite," Abbie said, closing Crane's cabin door behind her. "See if we notice anything, if there's new evidence that we..." she trailed off as Ichabod appeared in the doorway to his bedroom, leaning heavily against the doorframe. He was pale and sweaty, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

Abbie blew out a breath. "... Oh. Crane."

"... I'm not sure that I'm the best company today," Ichabod mumbled.

"Ah, I'm sorry, Crane, I told you that you shouldn't have come over the other day," Abbie said, striding over to him. "I could have managed on my own. Now you're sick too. When'd this happen?"

"Last night," Ichabod replied hoarsely. "I'm sorry; I should have called. I meant to, but, I... fell asleep. Again."

Abbie shrugged. "I would have come, anyway. Did you already take-"

Ichabod held up a finger, turning to stumble back into his bedroom and, presumably, the bathroom. Abbie heard the door swing shut a second later and sighed.

"Crane, I'm gonna go get some stuff and be back in fifteen," she called. "Go to bed and stay there."

She didn't get an answer but didn't expect one, and she turned and left without further hesitation.

When she came back, it was with a new thermometer, ginger ale, another box of tea, aspirin, and research from the archives.

"You helped me get better," Abbie said, wiping off the thermometer. "So, how's about we kick your flu's ass now?" she asked, waving the thermometer.

Ichabod blinked wearily up at her from the blankets and pillows. "... Very well," he said tiredly, and allowed her to slip the thermometer under his tongue.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the final chapter; yes, I should have warned you, but I didn't. xP I did the little cliché thing of making Crane sick, but I wrote this around the time "Mama" aired, so I couldn't resist. No, I'm not continuing on it, sorry! I have plenty other Sleepy Hollow stories on my plate, though, so do stick around. There's every possibility I might write some more sick!fic, too.
> 
> Thank you for your amazing support, you guys, as always! Mwah! xo


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